I like to tell my family how our cabin is surrounded by wild roses, but that’s nothing special. The rose is everywhere around our village and across the Flats. They lend color to every season. Delicate pink blossoms in Springtime. Ruby red hips in the Fall. And on Winter’s final approach its leaves put on a wild array of colors, all rusted and speckled, deepening into scarlet and orange as Jack Frost kisses the mornings.